


Bonus Tracks

by turn_turn_turn



Series: Unbroken Record [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dick Jokes, Fluff, M/M, Old Marrieds, and lots of tunes, many attempts at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turn_turn_turn/pseuds/turn_turn_turn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some short and cavity-inducingly-sweet snippets from the Shuffle-verse. Each chapter is a stand alone fluff-fragment accompanied by a playlist from Shuffle.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock Lobster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy listening! Watch out for gratuitous cuteness - it seems that where these goobers are concerned I simply cannot. help. myself.

Bucky is sitting on the couch when his phone rings.  

He reaches out blindly to pick it up, eyes still focused on the review sheet in his lap. Knowing that it's Nat by the ringtone she'd programmed for herself (inexplicably 'Rock Lobster' by the B-52's), he swipes to answer while continuing to read.  

"Yellooo." 

"There's a dog here," Nat's voice, flat and toneless, announces down the line.  

"What? What dog?" 

"A dog. A big, hairy dog is in my apartment." 

"How'd it get in there?" 

"How do you _think_." 

"But, but how'd he - I thought the landlord said no a million times?" 

"He wore her down, apparently. A fate which clearly awaits us all." She sighs heavily into the phone. "I am not pleased with this development, James." 

"Yeah I'm getting that impression," Bucky mutters. "But hey, you've got that spare bedroom now that I'm moved in over here – he or she can be like a new roommate, if slightly more prone to shedding. We probably have similar bathroom habits, actually - I bet after a while you won't notice the difference."  

Natasha snorts, grunts "Mhmmm," and hangs up. 

"Oh boy," Bucky sighs to the empty living room, chucking his phone back down on the couch beside him.  

"What?" Steve asks, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon in the other.  

"Clint managed to get a dog into the apartment and Nat is not exactly over the moon about it."  

"Oh," Steve murmurs weakly before proceeding to look very shifty, very quickly.  

 _Oh good grief_ _._  

" _Rogers_. Rogers, what did you do?" 

Steve spends exactly six seconds pretending to look innocent before giving it up as a bad job. He looks down at his lap and mumbles sheepishly, "Ah, I might have been the one who found the dog, and ah, called Clint?" 

"What? Where the hell'd you find a dog?" 

"We sorta bumped into each other on my walk home. He didn't even have a collar or tags and he was looking a little worse for wear – obviously whoever had him before didn't _deserve_ him, he could have been run over in the street running around like that, poor thing – and he was so friendly and cute and I knew Mr. Rutger wouldn't let him live _here_ so I ah, called the most dog-friendly person we know..." the words rush out of Steve before he trails off.  

"I think 'dog-friendly' is understating Clint's proclivities by several magnitudes. Steeeeeve," Bucky groans, covering his eyes with his hand.  

"What?" he hears Steve ask in a somewhat defensive tone.  

Bucky drops his hand and looks at him. "You do realize that Natasha is going to kill you if she – _when_ she – finds out." 

"She will not." 

"Yeah she's gunna - and I hope you do realize that puts a damper on some things for me." 

"Oh yeah?" Steve brightens. "You gunna miss me, huh?" 

Bucky just looks at Steve; at his paint-flecked, ratty t-shirt, at his hair all mussed from running his dinner-plate-sized hands through it, at his big, dopey smile. Watches Steve slurp milk from the side of the bowl with an obnoxious sound.  

_Sweetheart, you've got no idea._

Finally he answers, "Well, you know, I've grown accustomed to a certain standard of living over here and if you're deader than a doornail who's gunna fold my jeans perfectly and clean the bathtub and – oof!" 

Steve drops the spoon into his bowl and uses his free hand to grab a throw pillow and swat Bucky over the head with it. "You rotten punk. I don't hear you saying you'd try to defend me either," Steve pouts.  

"Babe, you know neither one of us would be a match for Natasha. I'd say go quietly but I doubt you'll even see it coming," Bucky tells him, patting his shoulder in a conciliatory gesture.  

"Hmmm, should we go on the run?" Steve asks, "Would you come with me?" 

Bucky grabs Steve's free hand, lightly kisses his palm before blowing a raspberry into it. "Of course I would – where we headed?" 

"Out west, of course – where all the outlaws go. Bucket and Sieve on the lam." 

"Sounds glamorous." 

"Oh it would be – only the finest motels and roadside diners for my Bucket." 

"Stove, you really do know how to treat a fella right. Speaking of which, how 'bout you get that mutt-rescuing, Natasha-riling butt over to this side of the couch and -" 

Bucky's phone vibrates on the cushion between them, cutting Bucky off. Bucky picks it up and retrieves the texts from Natasha.  

 

Today 5:46 PM  

Natalia: **So after some trial and error on a few things it's been discovered the dog is also deaf**  

Natalia: **Clint is already teaching him sign language commands**  

Me: thats the cutest thing ive ever heard  

Natalia: **Yeah we are definitely** **keeping him**  

Me: see its all working out! itll be a good thing  

Natalia: **Yeah** **yeah**  

Natalia: **Tell Captain Do-Good to watch his back**  

 

 _Shit._  

"Yeah, we're going to have to make a break for it," Bucky groans.   

Steve sighs, resigned. "I'll go grab the snacks, lube, and a _Harry Potter_ audiobook."  

"Which one?" 

" _Goblet of Fire_ , duh." Steve gets up, heading back into the kitchen. Bucky hears him drop his empty bowl into the sink.  

"Don't forget the beef jerky – can't go on the run without beef jerky," he calls after Steve.  

Bucky's phone vibrates again.  

 

Today 5:53 PM 

Clint: **BUCK**  

Clint: **BUCKY**   

Clint: **BUCK**  

Clint: **THE** **M** **ST** **AMAZING THING**   

Clint: **IS HAPPENING OVER HERE RIGHT** **NOE**  

 

Bucky smiles down at his phone as a picture message comes in: a blurry shot of a yellow Labrador Retriever with a giant slice of pizza hanging out of its mouth.  

Steve comes back in and plops himself down on the couch right against Bucky's left side. Bucky holds up the phone to show him the picture.  

Steve just beams and moves Bucky's notes to the coffee table so that he can throw a thigh over Bucky's lap. "So do you think we have to leave now to try and beat the traffic, or do we have a little time to..." 

Bucky tosses his phone away, running his hand through Steve's hair before tugging once on his left earlobe. Bucky lets his hand rest there, snug against Steve's neck, his thumb covering the jump of Steve's pulse. "Oh I think we can tempt fate and wait a little longer," he whispers, his lips brushing against Steve's.  

Steve pulls back after a bit. "Think Nat is planning on offing me tonight or can we keep our dinner plans with Sam and Riley?"  

"She's probably got her hands full for the evening," Bucky offers, pulling Steve back in. "Plus, I'd put up at least a cursory effort at shielding you if it means I get to have more of Riley's jerk chicken."  

"Only for the food, huh - not for the love of your best guy? I think the only 'jerk chicken' around here is _you_."  

"That doesn't even make sense."  

"Sure it does. Anyway, I'm a little distracted – get back over here -" 

"I'm already over here." 

"You know what I mean, numbnuts." 

"If this is going where I think it's going 'numb' ain't the right adjective, pal."  

"Ugh, just shut up and keep kissing me, already."  

Bucky may or may not do just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the Complete Shuffle Playlist - aka every song mentioned specifically and alluded to in Shuffle, in order. Happy listening, dears! 
> 
> Wigwam – Bob Dylan  
> Draw Me Closer – Doris Troy  
> Come On Up to the House – Tom Waits  
> Frankie's Gun! - The Felice Brothers  
> Obvious Child – Paul Simon  
> Sweetest Kill – Broken Social Scene  
> Come to Me – Otis Redding  
> La Vie En Rose – Louis Armstrong  
> Waiting In Vain – Bob Marley & The Wailers  
> From Time – Drake  
> I Fall to Pieces – Patsy Cline  
> Venus – Television  
> Night Moves – Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band  
> Baby, I Love You – Ramones  
> Buck – Nina Simone  
> Meet Me in the City – Junior Kimbrough  
> We Never Argue – Lambchop  
> Gold Dust Woman – Fleetwood Mac  
> Nantes – Beruit  
> Buffalo Gals – Woody Guthrie  
> Try A Little Tenderness – Otis Redding  
> Next Door to the Blues – Etta James  
> Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays - *NSYNC  
> Always Be My Baby – Mariah Carey  
> Brand New Key – Melanie  
> Kiss – Prince  
> In The Night – The Weekend  
> Stay – Maurice Williams & The Zodiacs  
> It Was A Good Day – Ice Cube  
> Cry To Me – Solomon Burke  
> Real Love – Mary J. Blige (feat. The Notorious B.I.G.)  
> Tell It Like It Is – Aaron Neville  
> This Must Be the Place – Talking Heads  
> Harvest – Neil Young  
> Just the Two Of Us – Bill Withers  
> Astral Weeks – Van Morrison  
> Blue Moon – Billie Holiday 
> 
> ***RHCP song omitted for previously discussed reasons. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I want you all to know that I've saved and loved and gotten all dimpled and weepy over every. single. comment. on Shuffle, so thank you so, so much for that. It has been a joy to share this with you and I wish I had the time and emotional stamina (seriously guys you get me all !!!! over here) to respond to each one. Much love, so much.
> 
> UPDATE: I'm on tumblr now, yo! Sadly all versions of turn_turn_turn were taken, so I went for the word-play (OR SHOULD I SAY BIRD-PLAY *cackling into an empty room*) of tern-tern-tern.tumblr.com. Come yell with/at me, plz.


	2. Bring It On Home To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these snippets are just too. much. fun. and also I can't stop making playlists for you guys in my head. So here's some more Fluff and Music, hot and fresh out the oven.

The night is quiet. An inch of snow muffles the typical street noises outside, the bedroom nearly silent with chill and the hush of drowsiness.

Bucky is lying on his stomach, half-draped over Steve’s chest. His chin is propped on the back of his right hand, his fingers splayed out over Steve’s sternum. He looks down into Steve’s face.

Breaking the quiet for the first time in what feels like hours, Bucky whispers, “You’re all sorts, you know that?”

“All sorts?” Steve questions, his voice low.

“All sorts – all the things, all the fixings, _you_ know.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m the ‘complete package’?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I was trying to be romantic until you went and slipped the word ‘package’ into the conversation.”

“I slipped my package in where?” The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts.

“You’re an id-“

“You’re all sorts too,” Steve blurts, his eyes locked on Bucky’s.

“Yeah?” Bucky feels the smile crease his face up.

The two of them just look at each other, stupid happy, for a few beats.

“All sorts,” Steve says again, his tone of voice and expression loving, sweet.

 _Maybe too sweet,_ Bucky thinks. 

Steve runs the tip of an index finger down Bucky’s forehead, traces a line down the bridge of Bucky’s nose. “Alllllll sortsssssss of _stupid_ ,” he drawls, punctuating the last word with a quick tap to the very tip of Bucky’s nose. Steve grins.

_Did this fool just 'boop' me?_

“Geeze, Rogers, here I am tryin’ to be all sweet on you and this is what I get?” Bucky scoffs. “Well I’ll have you know right now that I’m gifting you all my stupid – bequeathing it to you in my will. And you’ll take all of it with you when _you_ go.”

“Am I really in your will?” Steve asks, still grinning his cheeky grin.

“Jesus, Stevie, I’m only thirty – how many people our age regularly update their wills?”

Steve’s expression turns sheepish.

“Oh my God – _you_?” Bucky widens his eyes. “I’m engaged to such a geezer.”

“Oh, we’re engaged now?” Steve recovers himself.

“If you already put me in your fuckin’ will you’d better be putting a ring on this finger.”

“Which finger?”

“You’re choosing _this_ moment to get all cheeky about my lack of left hand, huh? You rude, rude –“

“I wasn’t – I just – just what sort of back-handed proposal are you trying to pull here, Barnes?”

“Backhanded? See, that I can do with only a _right_ -“

“Seriously, Buck, this is the lamest proposal ever.” Steve’s eyebrows draw together slightly. “I mean, if that’s really what’s happening right now…” he trails off.

Steve’s expression is so full of concerned hope that it sets Bucky’s heart to running hurdles; all bursts of speed and regular jumps. It also makes him want to squish Steve’s face up between his fingers.

“Of course I want to marry you, you absolute dipshit,” Bucky tells him.

“Yeah, you know, this really isn’t getting any better.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Bucky offers. “Just like you.”

“Yeah? Alright, that’s a good start.” Steve keeps looking up at him, expectant.

A breathless moment between them, so like and so unlike countless airless moments they’ve shared before.

“Perfect,” Bucky says again, letting his voice go saccharine sweet and giving in to the urge to pinch Steve’s cheeks. “A perfecccccct _jerk_.”

“Yow da wosst,” Steve mumbles, the corners of his mouth still pressed in by Bucky’s fingers.

“Well, sure,” Bucky agrees. “But I’m _your_ worst.” He lets go of Steve’s face, lays his thumb so that the pad catches Steve’s bottom lip _just so_.

“That’s true.” Steve nods once, his face serious. He purses his lips to kiss Bucky’s thumb.

“Officially true?” Bucky hears himself ask, voice soft, almost a whisper. His heart has upgraded its activity to the pole vault now.

“Is that you asking?”

_Pole vault, high jump, hundred-meter dash._

“Yes.”

“Well, then,” Steve continues. “Yes.”

They grin hugely at each other again, and ‘stupid happy’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

**A little while later.**

 

Bucky is pacing at the end of the bed. Steve is propped up against the headboard.

“Oh my God – you were right, I don’t have a left hand – the ring can’t go on my left hand –“

“Babe, don’t freak out – it’ll just go on your right hand.”

“Yeah but then we won’t match!”

“Then I’ll wear mine on my right hand too.”

“But that’s not – that’s not _traditional_ –“

“Fuck traditional. In fact –“

 

**A long while later.**

 

Sam’s face is scrunched up in confusion. “I still don’t get why y’all are wearing those things on your middle fingers.”

“It’s so when I’m telling him to fuck off he knows I still love him,” Bucky answers.

“And vice versa,” Steve adds.

Sam shrugs. “You do flip each other off more than any other couple I know.”

Bucky grins at him. “We’re unique like that.”

“Mhmmm – that’s an understatement,” Sam mutters, nodding.

“Hey!” Steve frowns at him. “Don’t make fun of my husband.”

“Mine either,” Bucky cuts in.

Bucky and Steve grin dopily at each other for a second.

“Yeah, I’m gunna go talk to my own fiance now – you guys are practically dripping with marital bliss and I hate getting my shoes wet. It’s nasty.” Sam takes a few backwards steps before he pauses, scrutinizing Steve and Bucky's now-outstretched hands. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean – the rings do soften the effect a little bit.”

“That is not intended for you, Samuel Wilson,” Steve chides him.

“Yeah – for you we just mean the ‘fuck you’ bit, not the ‘love you’ bit,” Bucky scolds.

“Don’t kid yourselves,” Sam calls back over his shoulder as he turns away. “I _know_ that ain’t true.”

Bucky drops his hand. “He’s right.”

Steve shrugs, agreeing.

Nat sidles up to them, a paper plate in her hand. “You know I was pretty miffed that I didn’t get an invite to the ceremony, but the barbecue at this slapdash reception is making it up to me with every bite,” she mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Awe, c’mon Nat,” Steve pleads. “We told you – it was just the two of us down at the city hall. Nothing fancy - Buck was wearing jeans.”

“Are you somehow implying that _khakis_ are a fancier alternative to jeans? That dog’s not gunna hunt, Rogers,” Bucky argues before turning to Nat. “You wouldn’t have liked it anyway, sweets – it was pretty gooey and icky. There was snot involved and everything.”

“Yeah you did look pretty gross all tear-stained like that.” Steve squints at Bucky, remembering. “I almost changed my mind, but I didn’t want to waste the twenty-five bucks.”

Bucky just grins at him. “I want to respond to your snark level right now, but every two seconds I remember we’re married and it’s like a little party starts in my head.”

Steve smiles wide at this, electric and dazzling. “Me too.”

“You were right,” Nat cuts in. “You guys are super icky. I’m going to go finish my brisket in peace.” She walks away.

Bucky looks out across the roof where their friends are gathered, chatting and laughing and drinking and eating in ever-shifting clusters. The sound of Sam Cooke’s voice singing ‘Bring It On Home To Me’ meets his ears, issuing from the iPod dock in the corner where Bess is set up.

He turns back to Steve. “We _are_ pretty gross,” he admits, feeling his perma-grin move past painful and into numb.

“Yeah that really doesn’t bother me.” Steve shrugs. “How long do you think it takes for the honeymoon effect to wear off?”

“Rogers, I’ve been moonin’ over you since the day I found that clunky iPod - no signs of stopping yet.”

“Yeah?” Steve leans closer and when he speaks again his lips brush against Bucky’s ear. “How long do you think before we can leave our own party? I think I’d like to have you mooning _under_ me right about now…”

Bucky pulls back, eyebrows raised. “You are the filthiest dork, Steven. It’s ridiculous - you’re ridiculous. And, no, that is not an invitation to make some sorta dick pun –“

“I wouldn’t – too easy. I like to work for it a bit.”

“I’ll _bet_ you do.”

“Now who’s making lame jokes?”

“I think you’ll find that that’s both of us, like, twenty-four-seven.” Bucky lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a swig. “Hey Rogers?”

“Yeah Barnes?”

“All sorts.”

Steve beams back. “All sorts.”

They kiss, and after a few seconds calls of “Ewww” and “Gross!” issue from the groups of friends closest to them.

Bucky hears Dum Dum’s distinctive, booming voice chanting, “More tongue! More tongue! French it!”

Then Dernier’s slightly accented one, adding, “If you really want ‘zem to ‘French it’ they are going to have to lose some clothes.”

“I wouldn’t mind that a bit,” Peggy chimes in.

“Me neither,” Nat agrees.

Bucky pulls away from Steve’s lips. “Alright, peanut gallery, make up your minds – are you heckling or catcalling?”

“Let’s take a vote!” Clint shouts excitedly. “Everyone in favor of watching the newlyweds do a joint striptease, raise your hands!”

“What a romantic moment for us,” Steve murmurs to Bucky.

“You think?” Bucky responds. “I was actually hoping our wedding reception would be a little less formal and uptight.”

“At least we aren’t wearing suits.”

“Yeah that would've really tipped the propriety-scale.”

Clint’s voice breaks in on them again: “And that’s an overwhelming majority for a live show! Alright boys, you can choose the music – ‘Chapel of Love’ or the Wedding March?”

“I’m ready to leave now,” Bucky says.

“Ditto.” Steve leans in close once more. “I do like the idea of the striptease though – a private one, I mean.”

“Yeah, you always _say_ you do but then you get all impatient and –“

“You’re just too good at it!”

And then they are kissing again.

“Quick, Tony, start the music!” Clint yells from behind them.

Steve and Bucky flash their rings, not breaking the kiss.

Bucky feels Steve smile against his mouth.

_All sorts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I gave myself a stomachache with this one.  
> "I don't really even like weddings," the author says, as if this cringe-worthy-sweet and horribly corny proposal story wrote itself, "What's so cute about them?"  
> So. icky. <3
> 
> Here is the 'bedtime' playlist from Steve's iPod:
> 
> D.A.R.L.I.N.G. – Beach House  
> Sleepwalk – Santo & Johnny  
> Harvest Moon – Neil Young  
> These Days - Nico  
> Sweetest Kill – Broken Social Scene  
> Come To Me - Otis Redding  
> What Do You Know About Love? – Bo Diddley  
> Won’t You Come Home – Devendra Banhart  
> Moon River – Audrey Hepburn  
> Beach Baby – Bon Iver  
> Take This Longing – Leonard Cohen  
> Fruits of My Labor – Lucinda Williams  
> God Bless The Child – Billie Holiday


	3. Run Away With Me

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that.”

“It definitely _is_ supposed to look like that, you Yankee piece of –“

“I guarantee you it’s not supposed to be orange. Red maybe, but that – “

“Of course it’s _orange_ – it has orange right in the name of –“

“I’m checking the recipe.”

“You don’t need to check the recipe ‘cause I’m tellin’ you –“

“Riley, what makes YOU the authority on –“

“’Cause this is MY kitchen, James.”

“The location has got nothin’ to do with the fact that it’s obviously too chunky – you didn’t slice the –“

“I sliced them just fine! And what do you know from julienne – you’re missing an _arm -_ “

“You’re missing a leg!”

“Well it’s not like I need two feet to use a knife!”

“This is nice.” Sam turns to face Steve on the couch, moving his eyes away from the squabbling men in the kitchen. “Isn’t this nice?”

“Every week it’s the same thing,” Steve shakes his head and takes another pull from his beer bottle.

“Tell me again why we married those two fools instead of each other?” Sam asks.

“At the moment I can’t recall.” Steve pauses for a second. “Though it probably had something to do with how long it takes you to get ready in the morning – so _slow_ –“

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I remember now – and it’s got everything to do with you shopping at Baby Gap. How is that shirt not cutting off circulation to your –“

“It’s a _medium_!”

“It so isn’t.”

“Boys,” Riley calls to them from his spot in front of the stove, “stop bickering and come help us out in here. Y’all must be the laziest husbands this side of the Hudson.”

“Yeah we gotta do everything around here?” Bucky chimes in. “Riley, man, you and I carry this team.”

“Don’t I know it, James.”

“And don’t you think we’ve got enough to deal with being the eye-candy too?” Bucky continues.

“Damn straight,” Riley agrees. “We oughtta divorce these chumps lickety-split.”

Sam gets up from the couch and walks over to the fridge, rooting around inside of it before turning to Riley and asking, “Boo, you want another beer?”

“Never mind,” Riley adds to Bucky, “I’m keeping mine. So _attentive_ –“

Bucky drops himself down on the couch next to Steve. “Looks like I’m stuck with you Stevie.” He smacks a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “As is this shirt, probably,” he continues, plucking at the taut fabric over Steve’s chest. “Jesus, Rogers, it’s like a tattoo.”

“Will you all lay off my goddamn shirt for five –“

“I think it looks very nice on you, Steven,” Riley offers.

“Thank you, Riley.”

“And it's so sweet that you’ve held on to your childhood wardrobe like this –“

Steve turns his eyes heavenward. “Why do I put up with any of you?”

“Because you have truly excellent taste,” Bucky tells him, pecking him on the lips this time.

Steve grumbles a discontented “Mhmmm” before giving in and kissing Bucky back.

“Samuel,” Bucky hears Riley say, “go put some music on so I can’t hear these two whispering their sweet nothings.”

“You’re actually going to let me pick this time?” Sam's tone is incredulous.

“So long as it’s not Carly Ray Whoever for the umpteenth –“

“How can you not like that song!”

“I did the first time I heard it but the joy kinda wore off after the sixty-seventh –“

Bucky leans away from Steve and turns to face Riley. “I like that song.”

“Me too,” Steve adds.

“Fine.” Riley sighs heavily. “Put the damn thing on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the 'morning commute' playlist from Steve's iPod:
> 
> Frankie’s Gun! – The Felice Brothers  
> What Cha Gonna Do Bout It (Single Version) – Doris Troy  
> Don’t Get Around Much Anymore – Duke Ellington  
> Just Like Honey – The Jesus and Mary Chain  
> My Dearest Darling – Etta James  
> Cherry, Cherry – Neil Diamond  
> There Goes My Baby – Otis Redding  
> Torn and Frayed – The Rolling Stones  
> Si Tu Vois Ma Mere – Sidney Joseph Bechet  
> Without Your Love – Billie Holiday  
> Don’t Believe What They Say (1964 Tape) – Vashti Bunyan  
> Janglin – Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros


	4. This Guy's In Love With You

Bucky is lying on the couch, his head pillowed on his folded right arm and his face tucked into a back cushion, when he hears Steve come in the front door.  

"Buck? You home?" 

Bucky doesn’t answer, pushing his forehead deeper into the soft, brown padding in front of him.  

He hears Steve kick off his shoes in the hallway and pad into the kitchen. There's a crinkle of paper and a series of thuds: the sounds of grocery bags being set down on the counter.  

"Bucky?" Steve calls again.  

Bucky closes his eyes.  

He hears Steve move into the living room, hears him pause by the table in the corner. Bucky winces; the discarded prosthetic arm and spilled bottle of aspirin on the table's surface should tell Steve everything he needs to know.  

Steve moves further into the room. Bucky can feel the vibration of his footsteps as he nears the couch. 

"Bad day?" Steve's voice is quiet, concerned.  

Bucky still doesn't respond but he opens his eyes, fixing a blank stare on the cushion in front of his face and pulling his knees up closer to his chest.  

"Budge up," Steve whispers, and Bucky straightens his legs to make room as the couch dips further under Steve's weight.  

There's some shifting and sighing until Steve is layed out behind Bucky, the cold tip of his nose against Bucky's neck and his left hand smoothing up and down the fabric over Bucky's ribcage.  

"Talk to me. It hurtin' today?" Steve lets his gentle fingers skate over the empty t-shirt sleeve covering Bucky's shoulder stump.  

"Yeah," Bucky manages, his voice hoarse, cracking.  

Steve doesn't say anything, just nuzzles closer, pressing his forehead between Bucky's shoulder blades. His hand never ceases its soothing movement over Bucky's side.  

"I just," Bucky tries, swallowing thickly when the words won't come. He feels the weight of Steve pressed all along his back: patient, steady, solid. "It ached and I just, I just needed – and then I couldn't even open the fuckin' bottle," Bucky pushes out through gritted teeth.  

Steve's hand sneaks further around Bucky's front, arm winding fully around his torso, squeezing lightly.  

"I can't help feeling useless, sometimes," Bucky continues, brokenly.  

"You're not. Even if it feels that way – you aren't that, Buck," Steve asserts quietly, with so much sincerity in his tone that Bucky finds himself blinking back tears.  

"But I am sometimes, Steve, I know it – and I – and I know it's my own goddamn fault but I hate – I hate feeling it. And you," he breaks off, feeling the hot tears trickle down onto his folded arm, wishing he had a second hand to wipe them away.  

He does, in a way; Steve's hand reaches up, the pads of his fingers swiping lightly at the wetness under Bucky's eyes.  

"Shhhh," Steve murmurs, soft but intent. "Today's just a rotten one, that's all, Buck. Just a bad day." 

Even knowing he's right, Bucky can't help himself from sliding a little further. "Do you ever wish you weren't married to such a disaster?" he asks wetly, knowing it's unfair to Steve but unable to stop the rush of misery from overtaking him, forcing the words out of his mouth.  

"Nope," Steve answers simply. Then he goes quiet, still holding Bucky firmly to him.  

A few minutes pass. The only noise is the sound of their mingled breathing, Bucky's hitching slightly on every other inhale.  

Suddenly Steve speaks again. "To be honest, just the thought of not being with you makes me feel like I might have an asthma attack. I try not to do it." 

"Steve -" 

"My chest gets all tight and I want to panic. I know it's probably not very healthy and it's definitely codependent, but I can't help it. I need you, and I want you, and I choose you – that's all there is for me." 

Bucky's own chest constricts and he feels every bit the mess he knows himself to be. "But -" 

"But nothin.' You got any 'buts' concerning me?" Steve's voice is firm, but there is enough vulnerability in the last word that Bucky turns over in the tight circle of Steve's arms, gets his hand fisted in Steve's shirt and hauls him in even closer.

"No. None ever." 

"Well then, seems like we are in mutual accord." 

Bucky just looks at Steve's face for a few beats - so calm and sure. He hates that he sometimes needs Steve to reassure him like this, especially when it's never Steve that gives him reason to doubt; Bucky manages that all by himself. "What'd I ever do to deserve you, huh?" he asks Steve, sniffling.  

"I don't know if deserving has anything to do with it, but I know I love you – for your sake, and my own," Steve says, holding Bucky's gaze. 

Bucky smiles then. Trust Steve to give it to him straight; no frills, no hesitation. "I love you too," Bucky tells him.  

Bucky presses his forehead into Steve's chest, rolling the bridge of his nose across Steve's collarbone. He lets the feelings of panic, inadequacy and pain crest and ebb, crest and ebb, holding fast to his anchor, who is holding him right back.  

After a few minutes of silence, Bucky feels Steve's chest vibrate as he starts to warble - low and somewhat lyrical, his singing voice cracking dismally in all the spots Bucky expects it to.  

"You see this guy, this guy's in love with you..." 

Bucky huffs out a laugh, feels the hot moisture of his breath get trapped in the fabric of Steve's t-shirt.  

Steve lets his voice grow a little louder as he tunelessly croons, "Yes I'm in love – Who looks at you the way I do?" 

"Are you done yet?" Bucky asks him as he takes a breath.  

"When you smile I can telllll, we know each other _very_ welllll -" 

"Rogers you are the biggest cornball in existence." 

"How can I showwww youuuu how glad I got to knowww youuuu -" 

Steve is no longer pausing between lyrics and Bucky has to talk over his intonations. "Alright, I feel better now, you can stop -" 

"- they say you think I'm fineeeeeee," Steve trills, pulling back so Bucky can see his exaggerated wink. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Dunno about 'fine,' given you are the worst singer I've ever-" 

"Tell me now is it SO - don’t let me be the last to KNOW!" 

"I take it back, this serenade is a huge 'but' -" 

"I NEED YOUR LOVE! BUM BUM BUM! I WANT YOUR LOVE! BUM BUM BUM!" 

"Steve! My ears are bleeding!" 

"SAY YOU'RE IN LOVE AND YOU'LL BE MY GUY, IF NOT I'LL JUST DIEEEEEE!" 

Bucky finally manages to push Steve off the edge of the couch, his huge body landing on the floor with a muffled "Oof!" 

Bucky peers down at Steve, spread-eagle on the carpet. "Steven Grant Rogers, what did I stipulate when we were exchanging vows?" 

"Buck-" 

"I believe it was something about 'no corny serenades of any kind for any reason.'"  

"I would never have agreed to that." 

"You definitely did. And you just broke the vow and my eardrums, so now you must pay." 

"But you break the one about not quoting Tracy Jordan all the time!" 

Bucky pauses for a moment, then says, "'Sorry it took me so long to answer – I was just thinkin' about how weird it is that we eat birds.'"  

"Oh my GOD – that's it, you are gettin' treated to a ballad every hour from now on -"  

"No! Okay I'll stop, I swear -" 

"OHHHH GIRLLLL I'D BE IN TROUBLE IF YOU LEFT ME NOW!"  

"NO! Steve!"  

"HOW I DEPEND ON YOUUUU, TO GIVE ME LOVE WHEN -" 

Bucky rolls off the couch then, landing squarely on Steve chest. The two of them scuffle for a few minutes, Bucky trying to keep his hand locked over Steve's mouth and Steve trading off chanting more lyrics and giggling helplessly every time he manages a breath.  

Finally Steve stops struggling and singing, his mouth having become preoccupied with Bucky's own. After a few minutes Bucky shifts and lays his head on Steve's chest, lets himself be soothed by the regular inhalations. Steve reaches up and kneads at the tight muscles above Bucky's left shoulder blade, making Bucky groan and arch his neck like a cat.  

"C'mon Buck, I'll run you a hot bath. I bet that'd help."  

"Only if you come too." 

"That's the goal." 

"Perv." 

"Where you are concerned? Absolutely." 

"How flattering." 

"Well you turned up your nose at my beautiful song - sexual innuendo is the next gadget in my wooing-toolbox." 

"That's a box full of sledgehammers, Stevie." 

"Hey! I've got _finesse_ -" 

"It's cute you think you do. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm more than happy to be whacked over the head with your love. Subtlety in romance is overrated." 

"Mhmmm – says Buck, the 'gentle oh so gentle' -" 

"That wasn't _intentional!_ Geeze, you ever goin' to let that go?" 

"Never. Hey, you know what aren't overrated? Bubble baths. Let's go – I'll fill the tub, you grab some beers."  

"You are the best husband I've ever had."  

"You aren't so bad yourself, pal. Definitely rank in my top five." 

"You're such a punk," Bucky scowls. 

"Hey, save the sweet-talk for the tub," Steve grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs Steve 'sings' to Bucket are 'This Guy's In Love With You' by Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass and 'Oh Girl' by The Chi-Lites.
> 
> The line "Sorry it took me so long to answer – I was just thinkin' about how weird it is that we eat birds," is a Tracey Jordan quote from 30 Rock, Season 3, Episode 15. And I concur. 
> 
> Here's the 'evening run' playlist from Steve's iPod: 
> 
> (FYI this is the kind of exercise mix that builds and plateaus, builds and plateaus. Sprinters be advised.) 
> 
> Runaround Sue – Dion & The Belmonts  
> Temptation (7" Edit) - New Order  
> Bamboo Banga – M.I.A.  
> Judy Is A Punk – Ramones  
> Gronlandic Edit – Of Montreal  
> Lonely Teardrops – Jackie Wilson  
> Silver Soul– Beach House  
> Feeling Myself – Nicki Minaj  
> Fineshrine – Purity Ring  
> Whole Wide World – Wreckless Eric  
> Sober – Childish Gambino  
> Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear


	5. Missing You

"AND THERE'S A HEART THAT'S BREAKING - DOWN THIS LONG DISTANCE LINE TONIGHT!" 

"I AIN'T MISSING YOU AT ALL!" 

"SINCE YOU'VE BEEN GONE A-WAY!" 

"I AIN'T MISSIN' YOU – NO MATTER WHAT -" 

Mrs. Wilson reaches forward from the back seat and flicks off the radio. The sudden loss of music startles Sam and Bucky into silence.  

"I hope you kids haven't quit your day jobs – the boy band thing isn't going to work out, I can tell you that," Mrs. Wilson announces. "Sound like an alley cat yodeling club. A second-tier one, too."  

Bucky glances at Sam from the passenger seat and shifts the comically-large tub of chocolate-covered pretzels around on his lap.  

Sam catches Bucky's eye, winks, then slowly removes one hand from the steering wheel, reaches out, and flicks the radio back on.  

"AND IF I CAN'T BRIDGE THIS DISTANCE!" 

"STOP THIS HEARTBREAK OVERLOADDDD!" 

Bucky breaks off singing then, subsiding into helpless giggles with his face pressed against the car window.  

Sam finishes the song with typical aplomb, complete with theatrical gesticulations. He turns down the radio's volume as the last chords peter out. "Sorry, Mama – when a man's got to sing, he's got to sing," he wheezes, smiling into the review mirror at his mother.  

Bucky turns in his seat to see Mrs. Wilson rolling her eyes, surrounded on either side by bags full of bulk paper towels and salad dressing.

She hugs her giant purse to her chest and smirks. "'Man' is a dubious choice of word, baby – you sound the same as you did before your ding-a-lings dropped." 

"Mama!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I want to write a full-length fic called 'Driving Mrs. Wilson' of just Sam taking Mama Wilson on her monthly trips to Costco. (Bucky sometimes joins. For the snacks. And the Sam-slamming.) 
> 
> The song Buck and Sam are jamming to is 'Missing You' by John Waite - it goes HARD so be prepared to get dramatic yourself if you happen to listen to it. Expressive hand gestures are a known side-effect. 
> 
> Here's the 'late night on the b' playlist from Steve's iPod:
> 
> Wigwam – Bob Dylan  
> Bang Bang - Dalida  
> I Only Have Eyes For You – The Flamingos  
> All The Time - Bahamas  
> Draw Me Closer – Doris Troy  
> Gypsy – Fleetwood Mac  
> Sandusky – Uncle Tupelo  
> My Lady's House – Iron & Wine  
> I Fall In Love Too Easily – Chet Baker  
> Come On Up To The House – Tom Waits  
> The Very Thought Of You – Billie Holiday  
> Start a War – Dom La Nena


	6. Daisy Mae

"Oh my fucking – Jesus, Buck! Yes, right _there_ , oh oh _oh_ -" 

"Fu-uck, Steve! _Fuck!_ "  

Bucky dimly registers the scrape and jingle of keys in the lock before the front door of the apartment flies open.  

"Alright fellas the party is – Oh _shit._ " Tony pauses with his hand still on the doorknob, staring straight at them with his mouth slightly open.  

"What in the _fuck_ -" Bucky scrambles to his feet.  

"What the hell are you doing here!" Steve grabs the nubbly-yellow afghan from the couch and holds it up to shield both his and Bucky's lower halves from view. "You can't just barge in here and -" 

"Get the fuck out!" Bucky shouts.  

Tony holds up one hand in a placating gesture that does absolutely no placating. "Alright, alright I'm going! For the record I'm just as shocked as you are - I mean, the living room? I would've guessed you dudes were too vanilla to take it outside of the pristine, ironed sheets of your bed – Captain Khaki over here looks like he does it with his clothes on and his eyes shut tighter than his -" 

"Just leave already, Tony, goddamnit!" Steve's face is beet-red in fury.  

Tony, completely unfazed, continues, "Excellent use of the wingback chair by the way, though I would've -" 

At this point Steve is reduced to opening and closing his mouth in silent anger, like a pissed-off goldfish with a blush all the way down to his -  

Bucky jumps in, screeching at Tony, "How do you even have a KEY?"  

"So I made a copy last time I came by, so what?" Tony shrugs nonchalantly. "The real question is why you were holding your hips at that angle, Barnes – you should try canting a little to the - " 

"Oh my God, are you really still here? TONY!" 

"- maybe put your foot up on the -" 

"TONY!" Steve finds his voice again.  

"Alright, fine – you want me to just wait in the hall? One Arm Wonder looked like he was pretty close to finishing, I'm sure a few tugs would -" 

Steve abruptly forsakes the shelter of the afghan and steps forward to shove Tony bodily out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him with a reverberating slam.  

"Wait!" Tony's voice comes muffled through the wood, "I brought tacos! Everybody needs post-coital ethnic snacks – how about I just cool it out here for a few minutes while you two finish up the beast with two surprisingly-freaky-though-admittedly-domestic backs. Barnes try that foot thing -"  

"Go _home_ , Tony! You'll be lucky if we let you back in here _ever_ _again_ ," Steve shouts at the door.  

"We are so changing the locks," Bucky tells him.  

"Damn right we are." 

"But wait... did he say he has tacos?"  

Bucky and Steve share a significant look before Steve wrenches the door back open.  

Tony, still standing on the threshold, blinks. "What, already? I _knew_ Buck Rogers was a hair trigger -"  

Steve simply grabs the grease-stained paper sack out of Tony's hand and slams the door shut in his face again.  

Bucky shoves the deadbolt home with a satisfying 'click' before turning toward the couch, scanning the floor for his boxers.  

"Geeze," Steve mutters, still standing by the door in the altogether with his face now practically shoved into the paper bag, "there's enough food in here for, like, eight people." 

"Well feeding us is the least he can do – that fucker owes us a pair of orgasms," Bucky grumbles. After a beat he grimaces. "Scratch that last sentence for the disturbing mental image it conjured, _Jesus_ – you know what I mean though." 

"Yes I do. That asshole is going to _pay_." Steve plops down on the couch and takes a vicious bite out of one of the tacos.  

"Gimme one," Bucky lands heavily beside him, hand outstretched.  

Steve carefully peels back the foil off the end of a taco so that Bucky can effectively eat with one hand.  

"And where does he get off calling us 'vanilla' – we are plenty kinky," Steve grouses through a mouthful of cheese and beans, his eyebrows drawn down in an exaggerated frown.  

"We sure are babe," Bucky soothes him, resting his taco on his bare thigh and reaching over to swipe a smear of crema off the edge of Steve's scowl. "If the breaking-and-entering fuck-trumpet hadn't completely killed my boner I'd be on you right now, tortilla crumbs and all." 

"I hate him." 

"Ditto. These tacos are pretty dope, though."  

"Not as good as you doing that thing you were doing -" 

"Awe, thanks sugar." Bucky nudges Steve's knee affectionately with his and takes another huge bite of his food. He chews contentedly for a few beats and then groans theatrically, "Honestly, I'm going to take that praise of my sexual prowess to heart, 'cause I gotta say this thing is blowing my _mind_." 

Steve sighs, unwrapping another. "Yeah, nevermind, this is better than sex. Damn Tony." 

"We're going to have to kill him."  

"Not until after we figure out where he got these." 

"You see, this is why we make such a great team – same priorities."  

"Mhmm," Steve grunts, reaching forward toward the coffee table for his laptop. As he opens it 'Daisy Mae' by Leon Bridges abruptly starts midway through the song. Steve quickly clicks out of the old Spotify tab and pulls up his email.  

"Whatcha doin'?" Bucky asks, his eyes on the slightly-deflated paper bag, trying to judge how many foil-wrapped bundles are left.  

"Messaging Pepper – this means war." Steve starts typing with the pointer finger of his right hand, a taco still in his left.  

"Alright, sweetheart. Don't worry – I've got your six." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's how it started, right? 
> 
> Anyhow, Steve's 'sketching' playlist changes every week or so (it's the one he listens to the most) and this week it's just the entire 'The Best of Early Ellington' album. The Duke is very dependable rainy-day inspiration. 
> 
> Also I'm not implying that the Leon Bridges album is what got Steve and Buck in the mood, except that I TOTALLY AM. Seriously, go listen to it right now – it's classic, romantic soul with a kick of garage rock about it. Go now and treat your ears. 
> 
> ALSO who wants to bet that Steve Rogers actually does iron his bedsheets? 
> 
> Annnnnd now I need a taco.


	7. S.O.S.

The downstairs buzzer sounds. Bucky groans and heaves himself up from his cozy spot on Steve's chest, moving carefully through the dark room and toward the door.  

He jabs the speaker button with his pointer finger. "Who the hell is it? And do you have any idea how fuckin' cushy my husband-pillow is? Being forced to relinquish the comfort of those memory-foam-esque titties to answer the goddamn door in the middle of the night does not have me inclined to issue you a warm welcome, I can tell you."  

"It's me, you fucking drama queen," the sound of Nat's voice croaks out of the little voice box. "And it's eight fucking thirty."  

Bucky buzzes her in and unlocks the apartment door before stumbling back to the couch and collapsing on top of Steve again. Steve tucks his chin over the crown of Bucky's head and brings his arms up around Bucky's back without looking away from the open laptop on the coffee table, the pair of them lit only by the blue-white glare of the screen.  

Nat opens the door and surveys the scene. Raising her eyebrow, she asks, "Are you seriously watching _Bring It On_?"  

"Fuck off," Bucky murmurs sleepily. "Cinematic masterpiece." 

Steve just lifts his hands from Bucky's back and does a few rounds of spirit fingers.  

Nat snorts and shuts the door behind her before moving deeper into the room. "I just came by to look for Lucky's elephant toy – have you guys seen it? Clint is insisting that he won't be able to sleep without it."  

Bucky yawns hugely. "Who, Clint or the dog?"  

"I think you know that the answer to that question, no matter the context, is always 'both.'" Nat lets out an exasperated sigh.  

"Mhmm," Bucky mumbles, pressing his nose into Steve's sternum. "Well I think I may have seen it, but I'm not telling you where until you call her by her full name." 

Nat's face hardens. "Yeah, I'm not doing that." 

"Fine, you can just go home to your moping, drooling, hairy blonde." Bucky shrugs. "And his sad dog, too." 

Natasha glares at him. "Fine," she grits out through bared teeth, "where exactly did you see..." She pauses, grimaces, and presses two fingertips of her right hand to the bridge of her nose. "Smelly Ellie."  

"Oh, _her_?" Bucky asks, tone suddenly mock eager. 

Natasha grabs the signed baseball from the bookshelf by the door and throws it to ping off the back of Bucky's head, her accuracy unnerving given the dimness of the room.  

Under Bucky, Steve doesn't even flinch, his eyes still glued to the monitor.  

"Ouch!" Bucky reaches his arm up awkwardly to rub at his scalp. "Very uncalled for, Natalia. But since you asked so _politely_ \- I think the lady is somewhere on the floor of our bedroom. Go ahead and check."  

Nat moves off down the dark hallway, muttering in Russian under her breath.  

"You know," Steve murmurs, his chest vibrating under Bucky's ear, "I don't think you put away the ah, the thing. She's gunna see it."  

"Shit!" Bucky scrambles off of Steve in an ungainly lurch, causing Steve to grunt and grab protectively at his crotch.  

Ignoring Steve's groan of discomfort behind him, Bucky dashes down the hall toward the bedroom.  

Nat is standing by the bed in the soft lamplight, a mangy elephant stuffed animal in one hand and – _Christ on an organic_ _flax_ _-_ _seeded rice cracker_   – the 'thing' in the other.  

"James," she smiles at him, her beautiful lips parting around sharp, white teeth. "I should have known." 

"Nat, that's not – it isn't -"  

She holds it out and wiggles it at him. "So do you and Steve use this together or is it a solo -"  

"Nat!"  

"Isn't it a little _big_ -" 

"Nat!"  

"And why is it purple?"  

" _Nata_ _sha_ _!_ " Bucky reaches forward and snatches the thing out of her hand. He holds it gingerly, shifting it uneasily in his grip and hoping to God it doesn't start to make noise.  

"Did you have that little toy while we were living together, or is it a recent acquisition?" Nat is grinning hugely now.   

"I didn't – I didn't _buy_ it – it's not like I went out and -"  

"I was always right about you -"  

"Don't say it -" Bucky winces preemptively.  

"You pretentious, hipster motherfucker." 

Bucky sighs and drops the shiny, bright purple ukulele on top of the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. It gives a weak, hollow twang as it hits the fabric.  

"It was a gift from a patient, alright?" Bucky grumbles. "He has the same prosthetic as I do and he says the strumming motion has been helping him gain finer control of his shoulder joint. He suggested that I give it a shot and his wife teaches a music class at an elementary school so they brought me – I didn't go looking for a -" he breaks off, knowing it's too late to save himself.   

"Cute story, still fucking hipster." Natasha shrugs, still beaming. "I was serious about it being too big – wouldn't something impractically tiny be trendier? One the size of a tobacco pipe, maybe -"  

"You are such a -"  

"Have you ever thought about getting bangs? You'd be a dead ringer for Ms. Deschanel, what with all the cute accessories -" 

"Fuck off, Nat." 

"Love you too, Zooey." She starts to move out of the room, clearly satisfied with her revenge torture and ready to head home with Smelly Ellie and Bucky's pride in tow. She pauses at the door and turns to face him, expression considering. "Hey, Christmas is coming up – would you rather have a tin of mustache wax or one of those hands-free harmonica holders?"  

Bucky flounders for a rejoinder and comes up with exactly nothing, lips moving soundlessly as Natasha simply smirks and stalks triumphantly into the hallway.  

Bucky waits to hear her offer a goodbye to Steve and close the front door behind herself before he shuffles back into the living room and drops into a defeated heap at the end of the couch by Steve's feet.  

"I take it she saw," Steve offers, face still trained toward the acrobatics of the Clovers on screen.  

"What gave it away?" Bucky mutters.  

"A combination of things, really. The fact that she looked so smug her freckles had practically rearranged themselves to spell out 'gotcha!' on her forehead, complete with exclamation point - and the fact that you look more crushed than you did the time Lucky refused to eat the cookies you'd baked for him."  

"He was having an off day – it wasn't personal," Bucky mutters before heaving a weary sigh. "Yeah, she saw it - I am literally never ever going to hear the end of this."  

"I mean you could just lean into the skid – we could perform a mournful, acoustic duet of like, an ABBA song the next time we host family dinner, or something."  

"What are you going to play, the banjo? The electric xylophone?"  

"I said acoustic. Hmmm, I'm thinkin' the spoons," Steve turns to face him, smile blinding even in the faint light from the laptop.  

Bucky can never help smiling back. "Mhmm, and those would be acoustic spoons, as opposed to electric spoons, yeah?. Alright, Stevie. What's our band name?" 

Steve screws up his face in thought for a second before dropping the act and grinning wider. "Captain & Tennille?"  

"I think that one's already taken. And there's no way I'm Tennille, if that's what you're thinkin' - I can get the Captain 'stache easier than you."  

"Machine Gun Fellatio?" 

Bucky shakes his head solemnly. "I can see how you would think that could only describe _our_ vibe, but that one's taken too." 

"Rats. We could just do one of those celebrity couple name-smushes – Sucky? Beven? I like Beven. 'The' Beven?" 

"The Beven, definitely - purveyors of locally-sourced, organic beats since 2015." 

"Gorgeous. On our album cover I would like to wear skin-tight spandex – maybe in a patriotic color-scheme." 

"And I'll wear eyeliner – just like, copious amounts of eyeliner. And nothing else." 

"Yeah, that'll shut Nat up – in fact I think it might be the only way." 

"Let's get cracking on those ABBA covers, then - go grab your spoons." 

"In a minute," Steve says distractedly, pointing toward the laptop. "The new-routine montage is starting."  

"Ooo, best part." Bucky snuggles back into Steve's side, rubbing his cheek against the soft, worn fabric of the t-shirt covering Steve's pecs. After a few minutes he mumbles, "The Beven isn't going to go the way of Fleetwood Mac, right?"  

Bucky feels Steve's shrug. "I mean, they did get _Rumors_ out of it."  

Bucky lifts his head to give Steve his best unimpressed look.  

"Awe, pal," Steve sing-songs with syrupy sweetness, "you know I'd take you over a critically acclaimed record any day."  

"Yeah, well, based on your dismal performances of 'Cecilia' in the shower every morning, I think the acclaim is gunna be a bit _too_  critical, if you know what I mean." Bucky pauses as Steve just stares at him. "You suck, is what I mean." 

"And the intra-band animosity begins," Steve sighs. Then he takes on a confused sort of look and says, "That song gets stuck in my head more than any other – I have no idea why."  

"The Beven can cover it." 

"I doubt that will help." 

 "True. Maybe I just want to hear you sing the 'down on my knees' part. The 'begging you please' bit ain't so bad either." 

Steve decides it's his turn to offer an unimpressed look.  

"Oh c'mon." Bucky pokes him in the side. "That is some high quality, perverted, musical banter. We are old marrieds and I am just trying to keep the spark alive -" 

"Simon and Go-Fuck-Yourself."  

"See? It's fun."  

"Shut up and let me watch the movie." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt the regularly scheduled Shuffle-playlist installment with the mix Bucky made Steve the following day, just 'cause, titled 'The Beven Inspiration Mix / Tentative Set-List for Our First Show': 
> 
> Thirteen – Big Star  
> Tangerine – Led Zeppelin  
> Hey Ma – Cam'Ron  
> Stormy Weather – Doris Troy  
> Picture Book – The Kinks  
> With You – Drake, PARTYNEXTDOOR  
> S.O.S. - ABBA  
> Fools Rush In – Peggy Sue  
> I Don't Want To Know – Fleetwood Mac  
> Cecilia – Simon & Garfunkel 
> 
> P.S. The mental image of Steve belting out Simon & Garfunkel in the shower while Bucky rolls his eyes over his oatmeal in the kitchen is particularly pleasing. I'd give it a go, if I were you.  
> P.P.S. Is it kosher to set up an elaborate joke just to reference another joke from one of your previous fics, or am I just a really committed narcissist with a lame sense of humor?  
> P.P.P.S. Guess who actually owns a purple ukulele?


	8. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

"This one time we were playing Go Fish – completely harmless kids card game, right? Well Buck gets so bent out of shape that I'm kicking his goddamn ass that he just up and EATS his last goddamn card so that I can't take it from him and make the game winning match," Becca scoffs. "Such a fucking drama queen. Not to mention that he was already _eleven_ years old at the time."  

"I didn't _swallow_ -" Bucky tries.  

"You think that's immature?" Sam starts in, completely ignoring Bucky. "Last month I finally get him cleared to observe a surgery, yeah? A surgery being monitored by the department's Chief, I might add – and when the _Chief_ of Orthopedic Surgery, the _ASA award-winning_ Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, instructs a resident to have a lighter hand on the probe, to use 'just the tip' - this juvenile embarrassment actually _giggled_. There's a body open on the table and this fucker giggles like some dweeb passing around his dad's Playboy under the jungle-gym."  

"I was nervous!" Bucky protests. "I get trigger-happy on the giggling when I'm nervous – I can't help it!" 

Sam shakes his head in reproach. "Yeah well, Chuckles, see if I ever vouch for you at work again. I am a medical _professional_."  

"I'm professional!" Bucky swears, the vehemence behind his words slightly undermined by the fact that he is wearing a cropped t-shirt that reads 'Sk8er Boi' across the chest.  

"Yeah, a Professional Assclown," Becca snorts.  

Sam holds up his salsa-laden chip and Becca taps her own against it. Bucky scowls.  

Steve walks into the room with a giant bowl of guacamole in his hands and a six-pack tucked under one arm.  

"Babe, remind me to never invite these two over for a game night again," Bucky grouses at him. "They seem less inclined to play Parcheesi and hell bent on playing 'Let's Demoralize Bucky Until He Is a Shell of His Former Self.'"  

"Who's playing Parcheesi?" Steve questions mildly.  

"It's just the first game that came to mind - geeze, you are kindof missing the point here, Guy-who-is-supposed-to-defend-me."  

"And you call _me_ and old man," Steve sighs under his breath as he sits down on the floor next to Bucky. "Sorry, baby – were they teasin' you real bad? I'll sock 'em right in their kissers." Steve leans in to peck Bucky's cheek.  

Bucky shies his face away from Steve's mouth. "Nope, you aren't taking this seriously enough. They were bullying me – I thought you didn't tolerate bullies?"  

"What were they beating you up about? Your hair?" 

Bucky gapes at Steve for a second before grumbling angrily, "This just keeps getting' better and better – Steven Grant Rogers, what in the _fuck_ is wrong with my hair?" 

Steve's eyes go wide. "Nothing! I was just wondering what -" 

"You had that _right_ on the tip of your tongue, huh? I say someone is making fun of me and the very first thing to pop into your mind is my hair - I'll ask you again, Steven, what in the goddamn fuck is wrong with -" 

"Absolutely nothing!" Steve sputters. "I _love_ the hair, you know I love the hair – but, it's – I mean you gotta admit, Buck, this past month it's been leaving Aragorn territory and trending toward a more Fabio -"  

"You've got to be _kidding_ me! This is the first I've heard anything from you about -"  

"I thought me givin' you pigtail braids the other night was a hint that it might be a tad too -" 

"Since when do you fuckin' HINT at anything! You're a human wrecking ball in every other instance -" 

"Hey!" 

"Uh oh," Becca stage whispers to Sam out the corner of her mouth. "Looks like the Mr. and Mr. Super Couple are finally cracking under the follicular pressure." 

"Everyyyyy rose has its thornnnnn," Sam sing-songs under his breath.  

Bucky and Steve turn as a unit to glare at the two of them.  

Unfazed, Sam adds, "Nah, these two never actually fight about anything serious, they just bicker – with each other and everything else that moves."  

"We do not _bicker_ -" Bucky and Steve say in unison.  

"You see?" Sam rolls his eyes. "But seriously, they never actually disagree about anything substantial. It's too well-adjusted to be healthy - two people that fundamentally similar in a relationship is just _freaky_. It's like dating yourself."  

"We are perfectly dysfunctional in our own way, thank you – it works just fine," Bucky argues.  

"And we do too fight," Steve puts in. "We're a perfectly normal couple."  

"Highly debatable. Go ahead, name me one thing you guys have actually fought about since you got together," Sam contends.  

Bucky and Steve just sort of stare at each other for a bit, before Steve offers, "I mean Buck is constantly leaving his socks all over the fuckin' place and it drives me up the wall -" 

"Steve slurps his cereal milk like a damn heathen and I -" Bucky talks over him.  

"No, no, no," Sam holds up his hand to shush them. "Those general cohabitation grievances don't count. Everyone and their mother thinks that Steve's milk-slurping habits are completely nasty -" 

"Hey!" 

"But that's just petty bullshit. I'm talking about _real_ issues, stuff you've gotta work through." Sam raises his eyebrows. "C'mon, gimme something – it can't possibly be smooth sailing all the time."  

"I just said the sock thing really -" 

"Yeah, Steve, the 'sock thing' isn't a wave so much as it's like, the ripple a waterbug makes with its dinky bug-feet -" 

"Thank you, Sam," Bucky cuts in, smug. "See, Stevie, nobody else thinks the socks are that big a -" 

"Well nobody else has to deal with finding your socks in their goddamn _freezer,_ " Steve barrels on.  

Bucky flushes. "That wasn't - I had read about that remedy for – Jesus, it's not my fault you are such a stickler for order -" 

"It's not my fault that you are like, the opposite of a dryer -" 

" - with your socks having to go in the _sock drawer_ -"  

" - it's like you spontaneously generate an extra pair every time you take off those filthy boots -"  

"Punk!"  

"Jerk!"  

A moment of relative silence ensues as Steve and Bucky share a messy but determined kiss.  

"Man, these two make Riley and I seem like Sid and Nancy," Sam mutters, shaking his head slowly back and forth at the canoodling pair.  

"Yeah, this isn't fun anymore – can we go back to needling Buck?" Becca requests hopefully. 

"Oh, you bet." Sam nods and reaches forward for another tortilla chip.  

Becca leans toward him, a glint in her eye. "You know about Bucky Bear, right?" 

There's a faint, wet pop as Bucky pulls quickly back from Steve's embrace to glare at his sister. "Becs, I swear to God -"  

"Yeah, leave Junior out of this." Steve scowls at Becca in an exaggerated and not at all convincing way.  

Bucky puts his face into his hands and groans.  

"Who?" Sam asks.  

Bucky groans louder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wilson quoting the very topical 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn' by Poison, everybody. What a hip young man. 
> 
> And here we have the 'blues for the mean reds' playlist from Steve's iPod – aka the gloomy mix you listen to when you are in the kind of wretched mood that makes you want to wallow in the misery of it all. (The title is a nod to 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', because Steve Rogers totally has A Thing for Audrey Hepburn.) (If this mix was in Bucky's iPod it would be titled 'Very Emo Jams, Part 1'.) 
> 
> Good Morning Heartache – Billie Holiday  
> All I've Ever Known – Bahamas  
> The Cowshed – Fionn Regan  
> You Don't Miss Your Water – Otis Redding  
> No Shade in the Shadow of The Cross – Sufjan Stevens  
> Blue Horizon – Sidney Joseph Bechet  
> Goshen – Beirut  
> Cataracts – Andrew Bird  
> Woncha Come On Home – Joan Armatrading  
> Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime – Beck


	9. Sara Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: this chapter contains mention (though not explicit) of past character death (Sarah Rogers).

Today 5:12 AM 

Me: mornin stevie-babe  

Me: you and bean looked very snuggly and peaceful so I didnt want to wake you  

Me: so (as you already know) I took the early shift so I can be home asap 

Me: take it easy today  

Me: I should be back by 2 with all the fixins for mama rogers' famous casserole  

Me: wish I could spend the whole day with you xo  

 

Today 8:04 AM 

The Dude: **Morning, Buck x**  

Me: wow way to sleep in stevie  

The Dude: **I made it past 8! That's pretty late**  

Me: *insert anticipated yet hilarious joke about how very elderly you are*  

Me: alright SO ive got everything ready to go for tonight 

Me: so you just sit that perky ass down and RELAX today  

Me: I mean it 

The Dude: **Thanks, babe** **:)**  

The Dude: **You sure there isn't anything I need to go grab?**  

Me: nope all covered  

Me: today I am the man with a plan  

Me: you are off the hook Rogers  

Me: go make yourself some scrambled eggs or something and then put your feet up 

The Dude: **A** **lright -** **will do, Sargent**  

The Dude:   **I'll be** **the man with a** **[egg in a pan emoji]**  

Me: lolz 

Me: seriously eat some breakfast  

Me: bean will tell me if you dont  

The Dude: **She would do no such thing.**  

The Dude: **:p**  

 

Today 11:43  

The Dude: **Possible hitch in The Plan**  

The Dude: **I** **just checked and they took It Happened One Night off Netflix**  

The Dude: **:( :( :(**  

Me: well its good that I ordered the dvd a couple of weeks ago then  

Me: [thumbs up emoji] 

The Dude: **You did???!**  

The Dude: **You are the best at plans.**  

Me: [cat kiss face emoji]  

Me: its in the bag on the back of my desk chair  

Me: but dont you dare watch it without me 

Me: actually go ahead if you want 

Me: but if you do dont think for one second we arent watching it again when I get home 

Me: I almost grew a mustache this week im so excited  

The Dude: **I thought this** **tradition was about remembering my Ma, not your ever-present crush on Clark Gable**  

Me: hey he was her crush too! why else do you think it was her favorite movie?  

The Dude: **Because it'** **s fantastically funny? Because it'** **s the mother of all** **romcoms** **? Because of the** **award-winning acting and** **direction?**  

Me: OR because it predominantly features the SUAVEST MUSTACHE ever to grace the silver screen 

Me: my drooling over Mr. Gable will be done in honor of your mother's excellent taste  

The Dude: **What is it with you and facial hair? You are always waxing rhapsodic about this or that mustache or Gregory Peck's eyebrows**  

Me: FLY ME OFF TO HEAVEN WITH THOSE ELEGANT AND SEXY WINGS OF INKY HAIR 

The Dude: **Good grief.**  

Me: [shooting star emoji]  

 

Today 12:12 PM 

The Dude: **So....**  

The Dude: **Should I try growing a beard or something?**   

Me: [salsa dancing emoji] [lightning bolt emoji] [tongue emoji]  

The Dude: **No promises, but I'll see what I can do.**  

 

Today 12:31 PM  

Me: Nat stopped by for cafeteria lunch  

Me: apparently thinking about you and your mum inspired her to skype her mom for the first time in a while last night 

The Dude: **Aweeeeee**  

The Dude: **That's great**  

Me: totes 

Me: tho maybe not completely great 

Me: she started telling me the story with 'thank steve for me'  

Me: but now she is kindof stabbing her salad and muttering to herself  

The Dude: **Ooop**  

The Dude: **Was there a matern** **al infraction of some kind?**  

Me: apparently it only took 30 seconds for her ma to ask why she and clint still arent married  

Me: 'that poor sweet boy is going to think you dont want to commit to him Natalia'  

Me: or something of the sort  

The Dude: **Ah,** **classic parent** **al nagging**  

The Dude: **I miss it.**   

Me: I know you do boo  

Me: ill tell Nat she is very welcome 

The Dude: **In a nice way, please –** **don’t want meet the same end as the salad**  

Me: I  think youll get a pass on this one 

The Dude: **I was talking about you.**  

Me: ah but I can deflect her jabs with my fancy robot arm [fork and knife emoji]  

The Dude: **Do what you will, but I am not helping you clean salad dressing out of the gears a second time** **.**  

Me: I thought we agreed not to mention that incident ever again steven!  

 

Today 1:20 PM  

Me: how you holding up cap? 

The Dude: **I'm doing okay.**  

The Dude: **Sketching.** **Bean on my lap**  

The Dude: **We are excited for you to be home soon tho**  

Me: ditto, my pals 

Me: b there soon!  

 

\--- 

 

Bucky walks through the door at ten-past two, a grocery bag full of ingredients for Sarah Rogers' Famous Kindof-a-Casserole (from-scratch, loaded mac and cheese baked in the heirloom casserole dish) hooked over his arm.  

Steve is sitting on the couch with his feet up and the yellow afghan pulled over his legs, a large sketchbook propped up on his knees. Bean has vacated Steve's lap in favor of lying on her back in the armchair near the window; her arms extended up around her ears and snore-purring softly.  

Bucky smiles at Steve as he slides out of his work sneakers, keeping silent in deference to the quiet peace of the room.  

Steve smiles back warmly, and it doesn't wobble, but Bucky can see that his eyes are slightly red and puffy.  

Bucky drops the grocery bag down on the coffee table and perches on the arm of the sofa so that he can pull his arm around Steve's neck and nuzzle into the fine hairs at Steve's nape.  

"Doin' okay, pal?" Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss under Steve's left ear.  

"Yeah," Steve sighs. He reaches forward to brush away some eraser fragments from the surface of his drawing: a portrait of Sarah, young and laughing exuberantly, her eyes crinkling up in a familiar way that hits Bucky with a sweet pain just behind his sternum to see.  

Bucky continues to hold on to Steve in the hush, pressing his nose against Steve's hair and trying to match his inhales to the gentle rise of Steve's chest under his forearm.  

"I wish you two could've met," Steve says, so faintly that Bucky would have missed it if they weren't practically sharing the same air.  

"Me too, Stevie, me too," Bucky breathes back. He tightens his grip and doesn't let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO on the anniversary of Sarah Rogers' passing, our boys have made a tradition of cooking her favorite (and unsurprisingly Steve's too) dinner – broccoli, chorizo, and panko loaded mac and cheese - and watching her favorite movie – It Happened One Night. Steve takes the day off work to chill out, drink tea, and sketch picture after picture of his beloved mum. Bucky does the kindof-casserole cooking and administers lots of highly medicinal cuddles.   
> This year the cuddling is enhanced by the presence of the newly adopted Bean – a short-haired calico with an almost 90-degree kink in her tail and a talent for snoring louder than a six-pound feline should be capable of. 
> 
> Sidenote FYI: Steve changes the name Bucky's number is set to in his phone almost weekly - currently it is 'Senior [bear emoji]'. Bucky has had Steve's number set to 'The Dude' since a few days after their engagement. Nat has broken in to Bucky's phone and changed it to 'The Dud' four times and counting. Bucky usually retaliates by sending her every cute-dog picture he can find, as Clint will insist on seeing every single one and thus bogart her phone for long stretches of cooing and squealing.
> 
> Below is the 'tuesdays with ma' playlist off of Steve's iPod. (In the years between moving out for college and moving back in to help her during her illness, Steve had a standing dinner-date with his mother at their apartment every Tuesday night; they'd cook, listen to records, and catch each other up on the previous week's happenings. After Sarah died, Steve put together this playlist of his Ma's favorite tunes. He listens to it every Tuesday night, without fail.) 
> 
> Hold You in My Arms – Ray LaMontagne   
> Sweet Baby James – James Taylor   
> Nothing Can Change This Love – Sam Cooke   
> My Funny Valentine – Chet Baker   
> Give Me One Reason – Tracy Chapman   
> Vienna – Billy Joel   
> I Cover The Waterfront – Billie Holiday   
> Into The Mystic – Van Morrison   
> Sara Smile – Daryl Hall & John Oates


	10. Wipe Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's come to my attention that my dearest trash-son, Clint Barton, has been woefully absent from these snippets for far too long. So here's this.

Bucky is waiting on the stoop of his old apartment, chewing on the straw in his iced coffee, when his phone buzzes against his thigh.  

 

Today 11:23 AM 

Clintopher: **be down in 5** **secons**  

Me: ill believe that when I see it 

Me: cmonnnnnnnn 

Me: I am sweating so much you are going to find a one armed raisin on the sidewalk by the time you get your ass down here  

Clintopher: **raisins have 0** **arms**  

Me: 'raisin' sounded a little cuter than 'dessicated corpse'  

Me: but w/e floats your goat  

Me: speaking of floating can you come out here already so we can get going to the goddamn beach 

Clintopher: **yessir sargesnt sun-maid** **si** **r**  

Me: if you have time to type out puns you have time to HURRY THE FUCK UP 

Clintopher: **I don’t think I want to go to the beach with a cranky pus** **s**   

Me: fine by me leaving without you 

Clintopher: **no no im coming I swear be right** **thre**  

 

Clint clatters out of the front door of the building a few minutes later, Lucky at his heels.  

Bucky looks back and forth between Clint, who is sporting a white t-shirt, grey exercise shorts, and a pair of mirrored, heart-shaped sunglasses, and the dog, who is panting slightly but seems generally content to follow Clint out into the sweltering heat of the street.  

"I thought we were taking the train," Bucky comments, unable to resist bending down to ruffle Lucky's fur and smack a kiss on his forehead. "You'll have to leave this beautiful mutt at home."  

"But Lucky loves the beach! Plus I have this," Clint turns to the side, displaying the huge, tan canvas totebag slung over his shoulder.  

"And?" 

"Dogs _in bags_ are allowed on the train." 

Bucky gazes down at the seventy pounds of panting, shedding canine and sighs, knowing it's useless to argue with Clint over anything Lucky related. "Alright, it's your call, chief. Let's go. Nice shades, by the way." 

"Thanks, bro – I won 'em at the bank." Clint grins at him, failing both to elaborate and to surprise Bucky with his failure to elaborate.  

The three of them make their way down into the closest subway, where Clint installs Lucky in the tote bag and hoists him onto his shoulder with ease before pushing through the turnstile and heading for the D platform.   

Once on the train, Clint pulls his iPhone and starts scrolling through one-handed, the arm bearing the Lucky-tote reaching out to steady himself on a pole. Peering at his screen, Bucky notices he's playing Farmville. 

Bucky stares at Clint for a moment – taking in the sunglasses pushed up into the chaotic, blond hair, the giant, fluffy dog-in-a-bag under his arm, the _Adventure_ _Ti_ _me_ band aid stuck over one eyebrow – before saying, "Man, you two are a Craigslist Missed Connection waiting to happen." 

"Hmm?" Clint grunts distractedly, not looking up from his phone screen.  

"You – being all kooky and adorable with your furry, drooling accessories and your little-boy haircut and your purple Crocs. Some poor schmuck on this train is going to get all heart-eyed over you, post some silly, ill-advised message on the internet to try and track your ass down, and then end up totally crushed when you never respond. It's going to be very sad. You're a menace to the public."  

"Awe, babycakes, you think I'm adorable?" Clint looks up and smiles.  

"I said some other stuff in there too." 

"You know you could've had a piece of this if you hadn't gone and gotten all domestic with that Grade A, All-American beefcake you call a husband."  

"My husband is not a cut of meat – my husband is the whole goddamn cow." Bucky leans against the wall of the car and takes a sip of his iced coffee. "That was supposed to come out reproving and romantic but I don't think it made it all the way there. You know what I mean." 

"Steve's your 'moo love' - got it." Clint's attention is back on his phone, and Bucky can see that he's switched to the NYT Crossword app. "Anyway, I think I used up my quota of Craigslist-kismet when Nat and I met." 

"What?" Bucky blinks at him.  

"Me and Nat – Craigslist – that's how we met." He types in a few letters with his thumb. 

Bucky gapes. "Wait - wait, wait, wait. Hold UP. Hold it all the way up – what do you mean, that's how you met?" 

Bucky has been trying to pry the how-you-met story out of Nat for _years_ , to no avail, and he has never gotten anything more indepth out of Clint than a shrug and the phrase, 'Well, I saw her and I was like 'whoa,' you know?'  

The arrival of this new detail has the poorly-tamed, hopeless romantic in Bucky squealing in excitement; he can't help it, he loves love and these are his two best friends. He might squeal out loud a little, too. "Clint, you have to tell me everything, I'm serious. Spill. SPILL." 

Unfazed by Bucky's obvious eagerness, Clint squints down at the clue for 37 Down and begins, "It was on the train, actually." He gestures vaguely around the car with his phone. "It was really crowded and I was stuck in the doorway between cars, 'cept the door was broken so you couldn't actually go through. At one point I look up and she was standing in the doorway of the next car over. She had her face kindof tilted away but it was still like, _whoa_ , you know?" 

Bucky nods; 'whoa' is nearly everyone's first impression of Nat, usually upgrading to a 'WHOA' if they are lucky enough to get a second one.  

"She was just so – you know how black holes absorb light?" Clint looks up and meets Bucky's eye. "It was like that – everything around her was just, like, pale in comparison. Like she's a concentrated point in the universe or something. So I'm just standing there, losing my shit, and then she looked up and we made eye contact and then she actually _smiled_ at me." He pauses, eyes wide like he still can't believe it.  

Bucky is basically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, and then?" 

"Well the doors were broken so I couldn't go through, but I knew I needed to at least _try_ talking to her - so I signed 'do you sign?' and she signed back 'a little,' so then I asked her how her day was going and we chatted a bit." 

"Oh my Gooood." 

"But she had to get off like, two stops later, and the car was packed and I was a little shell-shocked – plus chasing her down on the platform would've been a bit more 'crazy stalker' than I usually aim for – so we just waved goodbye and then that was it." He shrugs, eyes a little sad, as if that really _had_ been it.  

"AND?"  

"Well, I just couldn't stop thinking about her. And you know how great my impulse control is. So I put up a Craigslist post looking for her, like, as soon as I got home. Said something like, 'Wanted: dynamite redhead that killed an idiot in cold blood on the Downtown, blah blah date and time. Murder weapon: killer smile, something something. Distinguishing features: basic but solid ASL skills, smirks like she knows all your secrets, etcetera.' Something like that." 

Bucky stares at him. "Seriously? You have phrases like 'concentrated point in the universe' in your brain and you went with 'dynamite redhead'?"  

Clint rolls his eyes. "Dude, you can't actually start with the love-at-first-sight stuff – you gotta ease into it with a little light humor." 

"So what you're saying is you slept together right away." Bucky grins. 

" _Ha ha_. There ain't nothin' funny about my huge -" 

"We _are_ in public, you -" 

" - straight as an arrow, too." 

"Just finish the goddamn story." 

"Oh, yeah. So, anyway, I guess one of Nat's coworkers sent her the post as a joke, 'cause of the redhead thing. But Nat recognized it and for some reason she decided to reply. And, dude, I totally freaked out - I was like, man, I hope to God this really is her." He shoves his phone into his shorts and reaches his hand up to scratch at a spot on his chest. "So I asked her if she wanted to meet me at Dewey's for Wing Night and she said yeah. And, you know, it _was_ her – and that was that." He reaches out and snags Bucky's coffee out of his unresisting fingers.  

"'That was that'? You have no other details to add?" 

Clint screws up his face in consideration for a moment, swirling the ice around in the cup and then taking a sip. "Oh - I totally slaughtered her at darts at Dewey's. It was awesome."  

Bucky didn't doubt it – _no one_ beats Clint at darts. He rolls his eyes, "You didn't even let her win on the first date?" 

Clint frowns slightly. "Why would I do that? She held her own. She always does." 

Bucky just shakes his head. "I cannot believe I've never heard that story before. Like how can you – why don't you – that is the _cutest_ fucking thing. That might be even sweeter than Steve and I's story – and ours is damn delightful." 

Clint raises an eyebrow. "You mean the story where you both did that sad, awkward, very obvious dance around each other for months before moving on to completely unnecessary, stifled man-pain and then did a total 180 - declaring your everlasting love before you'd even tried making out? Yeah, totally adorable." 

"That is not even remotely accurate." 

"No?" 

"We had totally made out before. Remember? The night of Dugan's birthday party -" 

"You mean the kissing you followed up with a few weeks of weeping and ignoring each other? And didn’t you get mugged that night, too? My bad – the height of romance, that. You're a regular Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks combo pack." 

"Yeah, well," Bucky mumbles sheepishly, "we're pretty cute now, I think."  

"Don't worry, Buckeroo - you guys have graduated to 'completely sickening' at this point. What with all the 'till death do us part' stuff - not to mention the feline love-child and the inviting us all over for Sunday dinner like some sort of homoerotic Hallmark card." Clint hands back Bucky's cup, now just melted husks of ice cubes. "Seriously, when I'm around you guys I'm always torn between annoyance and arousal – I usually settle for a hybrid of the two."  

"Thanks, buddy." Bucky isn't fooled by the teasing; he remembers how Clint had cried into the phone when Bucky and Steve had called him from the courthouse, knows that Clint is almost as sappy as himself. 

"You're welcome, boo," Clint says, completely sincere.  

Bucky can't resist asking, "So wait, you still have that Craigslist email, right? Can I read it? Pleeeeease?" 

Clint shakes his head. "Nah, I don’t think you can – I deleted my last email account cause the inbox got too full -" 

"You're supposed to delete the _emails themselves_ -" 

"And I doubt Nat still has it - she isn't exactly the scrapbooking kind." Clint shrugs.  

Bucky sighs, thinking to himself that this is such a typical Nat-and-Clint inconsistency: corny enough to track each other down via a public internet forum, but not sentimental enough to retain the evidence. "So, besides keeping an adorable Super-Love Origin Story to yourselves, what else have you and Nat been up to lately?" Bucky frowns down at the lack of coffee in his cup. 

"Hmmm." Clint's attention is back on his phone. "Well, we've got a huge crush on our vet – I mean, you know, Lucky's vet. But we aren't sure of the proper protocol - does the whole doctor-patient thing apply if you aren't really the patient?" He looks up, eyebrows furrowed. "Nat and I want to ask him to 'hang out,'" he gives Bucky an exaggerated wink, "but if sexytimes go awry or something I wouldn't want to make things awkward for Luck – he really likes Bruce – don't you, boy?" He lets go of the pole to ruffle the fur of Lucky's neck, earning a tongue-lolling smile.  

"Yeah, man, I dunno. Sounds like it might be a 'shitting where you eat' type of situation. Or a fucking where you get de-wormed situation." Bucky pauses and wrinkles up his nose. "Ew. I already regret saying that."  

"Yeah, I think you're right." Clint sighs. "Too bad, really – Dr. Banner is _super_ cute. He's like, crazy shy, but you can tell there's a lot just waitin' to bust out -" 

"I really don't want to know -" 

"And he's got curly hair. Plus, he likes dogs. Obvi." 

"I'm still sticking with the 'probably not a good idea' camp." 

"Boo."  

"Sorry, bud." 

"And you and Steve are still set on the 'no thanks' to the foursome proposal?" 

Bucky snorts. "Yeah, I think so." 

"You guys are no fun." 

"Keep talkin' like that and you won't be invited to our next game night." 

"Awe, man, c'mon - I just bought a new Phase 10 deck!"  

"Not helping your case - you know we banned that one after the fire."  

"That was Cap's fault and you know it!"  

"It was the _two_ of you, and Steve was punished accordingly -"  

Clint waggles his eyebrows. "Kinky." 

"Shut up, I know what you and Nat are like -"  

"Oh! Did I tell you about the new cuffs we -" 

"Oh God, stop – you know I can't cover both my ears."  

" -a little ticklish but -"  

"STOP."  

The scratchy voice from the speaker above their heads cuts them off, announcing the Coney Island stop.  

"Yes!" Clint starts to move toward the doors. "I need like, eight hot dogs, stat. And then SWIMMING." 

Bucky follows, grinning at his friend, who is humming the tune of 'Wipe Out' under his breath and swaying his hips in time as he waits for the doors to open. Lucky's tail pokes out of the back of the tote, smacking Clint across the shoulders as it wags.  

"Ditto."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, 'Wipe Out' by the Surfaris is ABSOLUTELY from the 'Dirty Dancing' soundtrack. And yes, it is ABSOLUTELY Clint's favorite movie.
> 
> When I try to narrow down my favorite Marvel dude, it always comes to a tie between Sam actual-angel Wilson and Clint if-I-smell-like-a-dumpster-it's-because-I-was-inside-one-earlier Barton. The duality of bro, I guess. 
> 
> Oh and the whole dog-in-a-tote-bag scenario was inspired by that picture going around the internet of the guy with his husky on the train - so thanks for the inspo, guy-from-that-picture! 
> 
> Some Shuffle!Clint things: 
> 
> \- In this 'verse Clint works as a secretary at an Orthodontist's office, has for years. He remembers all the kids' names and can always be counted on for an opinion regarding braces-elastics colors (even if that opinion is invariably "Purple, definitely, dude – purple is the coolest.") (I would tell you what Nat's day job is, but I've got to keep my girl's secrets.) 
> 
> \- In lieu of a Shuffle playlist this chapter, I give you the top-five karaoke songs that Clint has serenaded Natasha with over the years, in no particular order: 
> 
> Always Be My Baby – Mariah Carey (See 'Shuffle,' chapter 10.) 
> 
> You Got It – Roy Orbison (There was a lot of interpretive dance accompanying this one.) 
> 
> Something to Talk About – Bonnie Raitt (For some reason Steve found this performance so romantic that he might have teared up a bit. Bucky might have laughed at him so hard that he fell off his bar stool, got a minor concussion, and had to stay home from work for three days.) 
> 
> Angel – Shaggy (Clint maintains that this was, by far, his strongest execution to date.) 
> 
> Blaze Of Glory – Bon Jovi (To everyone's surprise, this one became a spontaneous duet about half-way through. Afterward, when asked why she decided to join in, Nat said, "Well I had to – it's our song," and then proceeded to offer no additional explanation.) 
> 
> I have no idea why the gang partakes in karaoke as much as they do, but I'm pretty sure it's Clint's fault. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint collects dashboard hula girls. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint's favorite book is 'A Wrinkle in Time' by Madeleine L'Engle. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint insists on kissing all of his friends on the lips at midnight on New Years. It is everyone's favorite part of the night. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint rollerblades. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint always notices (and compliments) new haircuts. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint is terrifically bad at making pancakes. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint rarely wears underwear when not in work-clothes. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint is a stickler for properly separating the recycling. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint has a thing for cinnamon Poptarts. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint wears Vans. 
> 
> \- Shuffle!Clint is my bae.


	11. What Do You Mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of the tragic and unmitigated shit-sandwich this week has been, here is some silly fluff.

Today 3:44 PM 

Me: hey 

The Dude: **Hey <3 ** 

The Dude: **What's up?**  

Me: oh nothin  

Me: just wanted to say I love u 

The Dude: **Awe I love you too, Buck :)**  

Me: no 

Me: you are supposed to get suspicious  

Me: and ask me if im buttering you up for something  

Me: and then im supposed to reluctantly confess and then ask you to buy me something or fix the sink 

Me: you know like a sad sitcom couple 

The Dude: **ARE** **you buttering me up for something?**   

Me: no 

Me: I just love u  

The Dude: **:)**  

The Dude: **I would be surprised**  

The Dude: **Since you rarely have a problem with just coming out and saying it when you want something**  

Me: youre about to mention it again arent you 

The Dude: **Like that time you asked me to clean the** **litterbox** **during sex.**   

Me: for the MILLIONTH time it just popped into my head and I didnt want us to forget!  

Me: and it was your turn  

Me: its not like I meant for you to stop and go do it right at that moment  

Me: it was just a quick little reminder  

The Dude: **Forgive me for being mildly offended that your brain was checking off chores while my mouth was on your dick.**  

Me: oh cmon Stevie  

Me: you and me both know that was like the ONE time  

Me: during sex or not  

Me: that my mind was NOT on you and your mouth  

Me: it was a fluke  

The Dude: **Still stings.**   

Me: im sorryyyyyyyyy 

Me: its not like youve never gotten distracted before  

The Dude: **Not the oven thing again**  

Me: remember that time you did leave right in the middle? to shut off the fucking OVEN??  

The Dude: **We had forgotten the muffins!!!** **We could've burned down the apartment!**  

Me: yeah yeah  

Me: you left me hanging at a very crucial moment you know  

Me: in favor of some slightly crispy baked goods  

The Dude: **If by 'slightly crispy' you mean 'approaching** **charcoa** **l'**   

The Dude: **Forgive me for putting our safety first.**  

Me: says the most reckless dingus in the tristate area  

The Dude: **Jeeze, I jump out of a window one time and suddenly I'm a reckless dingus.**  

The Dude: **It was only the second story**  

Me: I heard it was the third  

The Dude: **Clint exaggerates, you know that**  

The Dude: **Plus he did it first**  

Me: I have a very unimpressed look on my face right now  

Me: im sure you have enough experience with it to imagine what it looks like  

The Dude: **Sure, I've seen the way you look at your own dick enough times.**  

Me: UNCALLED FOR YOU FUCKIN PUNK  

The Dude: **;)**   

Me: I TAKE IT BACK  

Me: I WAS JUST BUTTERING YOU UP  

Me: PICK UP SOME ICE CREAM ON YOUR WAY HOME  

The Dude: **Flavor?**  

Me: I dont know  

Me: what pairs well with grievous marital betrayal?  

The Dude: **Rocky Road?**  

Me: oooo nice one  

Me: [high five emoji]  

The Dude: **[salsa dancing emoji]**  

Me: stop being cute im still pissed 

Me: bring home the ice cream or youre a dead man 

The Dude: **Now THERE'S some classic Bucky Barnes buttering up.**  

Me: [kiss face emoji]  

The Dude: ** <3 See you at 6 <3**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, here is the 'morning run' playlist from Steve's iPod: 
> 
> 1936 – PHOX  
> Song For Zula – Phosphorescent  
> Arkansas – Damien Jurado  
> Clementine – Sarah Jaffe  
> What Do You Mean? - Justin Bieber  
> Gibraltar – Beirut 
> 
> Some notes on this playlist:  
> \- It is intentionally short and sweet, seeing as the Steve in this universe was not pumped full of Super-Patriot Juice and is thus restrained by realistic athletic standards. And I think we can all agree that people who go on runs longer than thirty minutes before they've even had their cornflakes are quite clearly of the Superhuman variety.  
> \- I would describe this playlist as 'peppy and just the slightest bit melodramatic,' which I think is also a fairly accurate way to describe Steven Grant Rogers.  
> \- Much like Shuffle!Bucky shares his feelings on the RHCP with yours truly, Shuffle!Steve and I are of like minds regarding Mr. Bieber - our opinions being A) what a fuckin' twerp, and B) man, these songs are fuckin' catchy. 
> 
> P.S. RIP Leonard Cohen. "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye" on repeat, all day.  
> P.P.S. Take care of yourselves, my pals – and let's take care of each other. You matter. And you matter to me.  
> P.P.P.S. Long, last chapter coming at you this weekend <3


	12. Dance Me To The End Of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, babydolls. <3

**Thursday Night**  

Sam hands his keys to Steve in a begrudging manner. "Sure, go ahead and take my baby for your sappy-ass getaway to the Catskills, for whatever lovey-dovey activities you've got planned – horseback riding or antiquing or whatever shit dweebs like you do in the country," he grumbles. 

"We're going apple picking!" Bucky says brightly. 

  
"You guys are a walking cliche, you know that?" Sam's almost glaring now.   

"Thanks, Sam." Steve pockets the keys, then squints his eyes in Sam's direction. "Hey, you've got something on your shoulder." 

"Hmm?" Sam automatically raises a hand and turns his face toward his right side.  

"No, on your left -" 

Sam looks to the left. "What?" 

"There, see it?" Steve points vaguely, and the exaggerated innocence of his voice becomes suspect as his lips part over a shit-eating grin. "It's a big ol' _chip_."  

Sam drops his hand immediately, a thunderous look in his eyes.  

Steve keeps smiling beatifically. "Jealous of our vacation time, Sammy? You are the one who chose to become a fancy surgeon with a fancy surgeon's schedule, you know." 

Sam's glower deepens. 

Bucky pats at Sam's shoulder in sympathy. "We'll bring you back some pie." Then he shrugs. "If there's any left." 

Sam closes his eyes. "I hate the two of you – _so_ – _much_ -" 

"That is not an attitude that deserves pie, Sammy boy."  

"Maybe you're not the asswipe who deserves to borrow my goddamn car, James the Giant Pain in My -" 

"Alright, maybe a _slice_ -" Bucky starts to back towards the door, hand held up conciliation.  

Sam growls. "Maybe _I'll_ slice -"  

"Quick, Buck, run!" Steve grabs Bucky's outstretched hand and shuffles them quickly through the door, racing them along the hallway.  

Sam's voice reaches them as they hit the entrance to the stairwell. "There had better be a full tank of gas and AN ENTIRE FUCKING PIE in that car come Sunday night, or SO HELP ME, STEVEN -"  

Steve's wheezing with mirth by the time he and Bucky burst out onto the street. "What do you think – do we fill the car with as many pies as possible or -" 

Bucky snorts. "I was thinking we leave a grocery bag of pie-making ingredients and a recipe off _Food Network_ on the back seat." 

"Oh, that's perfect - we'll never get to borrow the car again, though." 

"Worth it."  

Steve slides his fingers through Bucky's as they walk. He swings Sam's jingling ring of keys around the pointer finger of his other hand. "Can you imagine being married to someone less interested in pulling off petty pranks? It'd be the _worst_." 

"No way – what would we do for fun? Can you imagine being less committed to fucking with Sam Wilson?" 

"What would we do for fun?" 

"Exactly. Thank God we found each other." 

 

 **Friday Morning**   

Bucky pulls into a gas station just after they hit the highway. He fills up and then runs into the little store and grabs a cup of shitty coffee, more for the comforting smell of it than anything else. He settles back into the driver's seat and gives Steve the once over; he's still slumped against the window and snoring lightly, same as he's been since Bucky herded him into the car just after seven that morning.  

Bucky pops in the 'road trip' mix Steve made for today's drive, and pulls back out into the sparse trickle of traffic headed north. Sam's car is an automatic with power steering - easy enough for Bucky to drive with the one arm - but he's still grateful that the roads are relatively uncrowded at this time of day.  

They _could_ have waited until the afternoon to leave, to give Steve some time to sleep in after his late night, but Steve had wisely, if groggily, brought up the likelihood of Friday afternoon bottlenecks, not to mention the certainty of Maggie's ire if they arrive too late to help with dinner.  

If he's honest, Bucky's also glad at the prospect of squeezing some more time out of their short vacation; he already has plans to tuck Steve up for a nap and then take himself for a leisurely jog along the trails that weave through the property. Plus, Steve doesn't look _too_ uncomfortable: snoozing in the passenger seat, his cheek smooshed against the window and his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him.  

Bucky rolls his eyes at himself before focusing back on the road and away from the little patch of drool darkening the fabric of the jean jacket Steve's using as a pillow. 

 _Why_ _does_ _that_ _strike me as_ _cute? The endless mystery of love._  

Steve had been up until the early hours the night before, skyping with Peggy. Between Peggy's grueling schedule and the inconvenient time difference, she and Steve have to fit their catch-up sessions in at odd hours, usually while Peggy eats an early breakfast. Bucky had fallen asleep last night to the sound of Steve's low giggle and the clink of Peggy's spoon against her cereal bowl.  

Bucky smiles to himself and hums along to a few songs on the mix. The happiness is rising in him like smoke, slipping in warm, soft tendrils up through his chest. He's been looking forward to this trip for weeks, eager for the clean bite of the mountain air, for the living quiet of the woods, for Maggie's breakfast pie. He and Steve have made an informal tradition of spending a weekend at Maggie's bed and breakfast every Fall since they got together, treating it like an anniversary. They're Bucky's favorite days of the year.  

The number of cars on the highway around them continues to dwindle the further north they drive. Bucky rolls his neck and lets the tension of everyday stresses bleed out of his shoulders, staring out the window at the chaotically colored leaves, the intensity of which always manages to surprise him when this season rolls around; there's a startling red with the vibrancy of Peggy's signature lipstick hue, a burnt auburn the rich tone of Natasha's hair, a clamoring yellow so loud it makes him blink.  

Steve shifts in the passenger seat, making a soft sound and drawing his knees in closer to his chest. Bucky grins to himself again, feeling suddenly and so unbearably glad for his life in this moment that he wants to laugh out loud.  

The next song on the mix is 'Buck' by Nina Simone. Bucky snorts as the first chords bring recognition. He glances over at Steve, still the picture of innocent serenity: his head resting against the window and his eyes closed, long lashes fanned over his cheeks. Bucky is no longer convinced.  

"I know you ain't asleep anymore, punk. I would call you an asshole for putting this song on here to tease me," Bucky says, and watches as a slight smirk creeps over Steve's mouth, though his eyes remain closed. "But I know you," Bucky continues, "and I know this song found its way onto this CD because you are an enormous, relentless sap." 

Steve cracks one eye at this, then shifts a bit so he can reach out and rest his left palm on Bucky's right knee.  

"That's what I thought." Bucky drives on, but when the next song  begins he has to snort again. "Geesh, Stevie-doll, I'm beginning to think this mix isn't just 'for the road trip.' It's like a musical love letter - you tryin' to tell me somethin'? You sweet on me, Rogers?"  

Steve keeps his eyes closed this time, but smiles fully and mutters, "Maybe."  

And maybe it makes him as big of a sap as Steve, but Bucky thinks the worst thing about having only one arm while driving is that he can't hold Steve's hand while he does it. He indulges in another long look at Steve's peaceful face, thinking all sorts of saccharine things and mentally planning out his own romantic compilation to make for Steve.  

But then the next song on the mix starts up.  

"You rotten punk," Bucky scoffs as Marvin Gaye begins belting the lyrics of 'Sexual Healing' through the speakers.  

Steve huffs out a sleepy and unrepentant giggle.  

Bucky snorts a third time. "You are the _least_ smooth, you know that? Here I thought you were making a romantic gesture, but really you were just _gropin' my ass_." 

Steve yawns. "Oh c'mon, Buck, you know every good love letter has to have a _little_ sexy in it." 

"There's a difference between poetic allusions to lust and a goddamn dick pic -"  

"And this song is the musical equivalent of a dick pic?" 

"That's what I'm sayin'." 

"I thought you _liked_ my dick pics – in fact I think we both know that you have a few of them _saved_ in a little folder on your -" 

"Not for like, _scrapbooking_ purposes -  it ain't like it's a tasteful collection of -" 

"You want tasteful? I can do tasteful." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"I'm an artist, ain't I? Maybe a black and white filter, some delicate lighting -" 

"Babe, I don't think a greyscale shot of your ding-dong is gunna reach the heights of class." He shrugs. "Nine inches of class, maybe." 

Steve snorts. "Flatterer." 

"Just honest." 

"Optimist, then." 

"I _do_ prefer to see the proverbial dick half chubbed."  

"Oh my God, the stuff that comes out of your mouth. Meanwhile you are giving me shit for including a very pure and loving song on your mix."  

They both pause, and in the lull the last lyric of the song sings out clear.  

Steve fizzes with mirth and Bucky decides that the worst thing about driving with one arm is that he can't dead-leg Steve in the thigh when he totally deserves it.  

Steve yawns and squeezes Bucky's knee once, and then a second time. They fall quiet, letting the music fill up the car.  

Bucky thinks about the first time they'd driven this road together, pressed jittery and exultant against one another on the back of Steve's bike. He thinks about the distance they've traveled since that day, the way time has dissolved his first, frantic passion into a warm, contented armor: thin plates sliding weightless over his living skin, protective and secure. This love is not a cure, but it is a talisman, and the having of it makes gratitude trill through Bucky's blood.  

Next to him, Steve begins to sing softly along with the music. After several seconds Bucky realizes Steve is changing the lyrics from "Amie" to "Bucky," crooning the name is his sweet, tone-deaf way. Bucky risks taking his hand off the wheel for several seconds to smoosh his palm briefly over Steve's face.  

Steve lets out another sleepy giggle in response, and Bucky's chest clenches. Hand back on the wheel, he watches Steve's face settle back into repose, eyelids fluttering and mouth going slack.  

"Eyes on the road, Buck," Steve mumbles, eyes still closed, a dimple lightly denting his cheek.  

Bucky drives on, contented and bright and so, so lucky. Up ahead, a few miles in the distance, the sign for their exit stands like a quiet beacon. They'll be there soon.  

 _But really_ , Bucky thinks, the happy weight of Steve's hand radiating warmth against his leg, _there's no rush_.  

 

 **Sunday Night**  

Today 9:22 PM 

[Group Message] 

Rileyyy: **W** **hat did you** **Hall and Oates** **lookin** **motherfuckers do to my husband?**  

Rileyyy: **He just came up from checking on the car with a grocery bag and a look of blank rage**  

Rileyyy: **A** **nd now there's a lot of incomprehensible muttering**  

Rileyyy: **He's like Mrs. White at the end of Clue**  

Me: I love that movie!  

Rileyyy: **That's nice James**   

Rileyyy: **But what did you DO**  

Rileyyy: **Y'all did something** **I know it**  

The Dude: **_Wait, did he look in the trunk?_**  

The Dude: **_Tell him to look in the trunk!_**  

Rileyyy: **Sure when the steam stops** **whistlin** **out of his ears I'll tell him**  

Me: oops 

Me: stevie I dont know if the trunk is gunna help 

The Dude: **_Damn, I was sure he'd do a full search._**  

Rileyyy: **He's definitely** **doing** **a full** **somethin**  

Rileyyy: **I'd say y'all are in for it**  

Me: :/ 

 

Today 9:34 PM 

Ham Samwich: **You are so dead.**  

Ham Samwich: **And you can forget coming to Costco on Thursday.**  

Me: noooooooooooooooo 

Me: ive been looking forward to seeing your mom all month!  

Me: shes bringing me her meatball recipe!  

Ham Samwich: **Yeah, you can kiss that recipe goodbye.**  

Me: shit you didn’t make a 'kiss those balls' joke 

Me: you really must be mad 

Me: did you look in the trunk yet?? 

Ham Samwich: **What in the fuck did you do to my fucking trunk???**  

Me: just go look!  

Me: only good things!  

Me: I promise!  

 

Today 9:43 PM 

Ham Samwich: **I accept the peace** **offering.**  

Ham Samwich: **Consider yourself on probation until further notice.**  

Me: probation??  

Me: there were three whole pies in that trunk Wilson 

Me: I think three pies ought to buy us full forgiveness 

Ham Samwich: **You forgot ice cream.**  

Me: oh cmon! there are environmental factors to consider  

Me: its not like you wouldve taken kindly to a trunk full of vanilla soup 

Ham Samwich: **Bring a few** **pints** **by our place tomorrow and I'll reconsider your sentencing.**  

Ham Samwich: **No promises.**  

Me: [sad cat emoji] 

Ham Samwich: **Make it Haagen Dazs and we've got a deal.**  

Me: you got it booboo 

Ham Samwich: **Thin ice, Barnes.**   

Ham Samwich: **Thin ice.**  

 

 **Wednesday Afternoon**   

Today 12:55 PM 

The Dude: **[picture message]**  

Me: jesus christ STEVEN 

Me: GRANT ROGERS  

Me: I am at WORK  

Me: are you trying to get me FIRED  

The Dude: **Fired up maybe** **[winking emoji]**

Me: A WARNING WOULD HAVE HELPED  

The Dude: **Y** **ou never send me a warning before hand!**  

Me: you work from home!  

Me: no one is looking over your shoulder  

Me: and very lucky for you no one was looking over mine this time  

Me: but I will stress THIS TIME  

The Dude: **So no harm no foul!**  

The Dude: **This is not the reaction I was hoping for** **, to be honest**  

The Dude: **I spent some time on this one too.**   

Me: yes I could see that 

Me: the sepia tone filter was a nice touch  

Me: very 19 century chic  

The Dude: **I aim to please**  

Me: your decision to use the blurred background effect was also very  

Me: *wait for it* 

Me: BALLSY  

The Dude: **You're terrible.**  

Me: said the guy sending artistic dick pics to people in the middle of their workday 

The Dude: **I figured you were on lunch!**  

Me: cause me choking on my sandwich is a better alternative to extreme unprofessionalism?  

The Dude: **I would say 'I'll give you something to choke on' but since you are at work and everything...**  

Me: oooo feisty  

Me: and a pervert  

Me: I'm so fucking glad I married you  

The Dude: **Keep being sweet and I'll send another picture.**  

Me: is that a warning?  

The Dude: **D** **o you want it to be?**  

Me: goddamnit stevie you are in SO MUCH TROUBLE when I get home  

The Dude: **I** **s that a warning** **?**  

Me: damn straight  

The Dude: **[eggplant emoji] [heart emoji]**  

Me: I love you 

Me: now leave me alone before you give me a hard on in the middle of rounds 

The Dude: **Okay, okay. But one quick question**  

Me: shoot 

The Dude: **Does it make the folder?**  

Me: hmmmm 

Me: to be honest  

Me: I didn’t care much for the composition 

The Dude: **You suck.**   

Me: I might 

Me: but I thought I said to save that kinda talk for after 5  

The Dude: **[middle finger emoji]**  

The Dude: **It's a date**  

Me: [cat kiss emoji] 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: 
> 
> \- FYI the final lyric of 'Sexual Healing' is "Please don't procrastinate / It's not good to masturbate." 
> 
> \- Bucky's name in Sam's phone is 'BLT,' standing for 'Bucky-Lettuce-Tomato.' How they came up with those monikers I don't know, but I'm fairly sure tequila and a loaf of Wonder Bread was involved. 
> 
> \- In case you were wondering, Clint is feeding Bean while Bucky and Steve are away for the weekend. (He will probably eat a decent portion of their fridge when he stops by, as well. No, he definitely will. They left a box of Bagel Bites just for him.) 
> 
> \- Here is the 'road trip'/'I love Bucky Barnes a stupid amount' mix that Steve made for their drive: 
> 
> Golden Age – Beck  
> Lady Luck – Richard Swift  
> Can We Work It Out – Gordi  
> Reflections After Jane – The Clientele  
> Buck – Nina Simone  
> Something About Your Love – Mason Jennings  
> Cannons – Youth Lagoon  
> My Kind of Woman – Mac Demarco  
> Mona Lisas And Mad Hatters – Elton John  
> Mama, You've Been on My Mind – Jeff Buckley  
> Sexual Healing – Marvin Gaye  
> Amie – Pure Prarie League  
> I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever) - Stevie Wonder  
> Dance Me To The End Of Love – Madeleine Peyroux 
> 
> \- 'Dance Me To The End Of Love' is a Leonard Cohen song, originally. After this week I almost switched it to his version, but I ended up sticking with Madeleine, as her voice is basically the French love-child of Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald, which I feel fits this fic best, for reasons I most likely don't have to explain at this point. I could write a little dissertation on the Indulgently Stylistic and Emotionally Relevant reasons why I chose this as the last song for this fic, but I think just listening to it will be enough. The main reason is that I am obviously the biggest sap of them all. 
> 
> \- And now this Great Sap will sap on sappily: Thank you for reading. Your continued support of this story has been beyond magic for me. Your comments make my day and I hope you know how grateful I am for every single one. I LOVE YOU GUYS, 4 REALZ. 
> 
> \- Gordi is a new favorite of mine – you should totally listen to all of her stuff, it is Good Stuff. 
> 
> \- Though this is the end of this particular fic – and I am sad to say goodbye to this 'verse, truly – I do have another project already in the works! It will be stucky, it will be fluffy, it will be silly, it will mostly be me trying to be funny – so obviously business as usual. If you'd like to read it (and I hope you will) keep your eyes peeled in December, most likely the week before Christmas, because I am a predictable sucker (holidays give me Feelings^TM). 
> 
> -THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, you glorious, beautiful people. Thank you for sticking with this.


End file.
